


the cyclical nature of clouds

by yogurtgun



Category: Arrival (2016), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Shape of Water (2017)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, British Military, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-06 03:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yogurtgun/pseuds/yogurtgun
Summary: When twelve unidentified flying objects appear on twelve location on Earth, humanity is given undeniable evidence that it's not alone in the universe. Hux is a mathematician who consults for the military. Drafted by his father to help them understand the nature of the shell that had landed in Britain, Hux is put to work alongside a young linguist named Rey. Together, they enter the shell and meet a shadowy figure hidden behind a white screen -- Ben.





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> This work is set in the world of the movie Arrival, with elements of SoW. You don't need to watch the movies to understand the fic, though I warmly recommend them because they're amazing. This is unbetaed. Enjoy.

The smell of rosemary shepherds Hux out of tranquil slumber. It mingles with the smell of citrus that rouses his mind, slips behind the complex aromas of thyme and oregano, to become a fresh breath of air within his lungs. 

His limbs are heavy and warm. Not just because of the heated body half-across his own, but also from the sun rays that stripe his skin in gold and grey. His mind, seldom a tedious machine, now lazily supplies information at a sluggish frequency. He’s quite content to lie between his own sheets, and swim between dream and awakening.

Hux feels a soft breath in his ear, everything else turning quiet as if just for that moment. He turns towards that sound and opens his eyes. First, he recognizes the pale skin and the pitch-black hair that spills across the white pillows like ink over parchment. Birthmarks come into view next, like a spray of black across a prepped white canvas. Then the darkness of the man’s lashes grabs Hux’s attention. Their length and the contrast they make pressed softly into the bruised skin underneath his eyes is a familiar, arresting sight. The pale pink of the man’s lips is a splash of color amidst that monochrome dichotomy.

Just as Hux notes this, the man opens his eyes with an inhale and they’re as black and as warm as his body that is still pressed to Hux’s. Both of them are naked. Surprising of all, is the fact that he doesn’t seem to mind that.

One of the man’s large, warm hands presses over Hux’s cheek. He rubs the soft skin stretched across Hux’s cheekbone with his thumb, while his other fingers touch his neck and curl around his jaw to lift his face towards him.

Hux finds himself happy and laughing. “Kylo,” he chastises and presses his own hand against the man’s to stop it. 

Kylo allows it for a moment. Then he slides it lower, to Hux’s neck, and he rises above him, pressing Hux’s back into the comforter and kisses him.

-

Hux is woken up by banging on his front door precisely at four hundred and thirty hours. He leaps from his desk in the living room where he’d fallen asleep, winds a bathrobe he finds on the floor around himself, and opens his doors only two minutes later.

He’s blinded by piercing helicopter lights, and the dirt and sand kicked up from his front lawn to his porch by the strong wind caused by the propellers. He shields his eyes from the light if not from the dust and manages to catch a glimpse of the nightmarish vehicle that sits upon his lawn, ready for take-off at any moment. Not even two feet away from Hux, blocking the rest of the view, stand familiar silhouettes bathed in that harsh light: his father and his father’s lieutenant.

“Take-off in ten,” his father’s dark, faceless form says. 

That’s all the information Hux will get until he’s packed into the helicopter and miles away from solid ground. At this point, Hux is used to it. He closes the doors behind him and leaps to his bedroom, defying the pain in his left leg and ignoring it. 

The past ten years of his life have been a familiar combination of being woken up at one dead hour or another, getting an impossibly short time to pack, and being spirited away to a army base where he’s given an even more unreasonable task or deadline. He’s gotten used to keeping a packed bag under his bed with all necessities just for these kinds of situations.

Usually, Hux thinks as he’s strapped to his seat in the heli, it’s an international crisis. It’s United States buggering up a situation somewhere in the middle east, China threatening to stop trades if one or another international trade condition isn’t met, or it’s North Korea and their innumerable missile threats even after peace talks with their southern counterpart. Sometimes it’s Russia, with a wide range and variety of hacking, poisoning, meddling, or all-out war. However, most often he’s called in when it’s the Brits’ own fault. 

Ultimately, Hux knows that he’s bound to look through enough code and equations to wonder if his degrees were worth the torture and if he should perhaps retire in a mountain or in a forest where he would be perpetually inaccessible. He knows to get elbow deep in a mission that, coupled with horrible army waking hours, make him slip into a kind of tunnel vision or fugue state until he feels ill enough that he’s wondering if it’s all just another alcohol fuelled dream.

Defying Hux’s expectations, his father is deathly quiet on the helicopter. Only when they land in the army base, somewhere near Devon’s beach, does Hux realise why.

It’s just getting light. The Earth has still not rotated enough for Britain to gaze upon the Sun. There’s a cool wind whipping his hair back, coming from the sea and carrying its iodine and salt scent to Hux’s nose and mouth. The sea itself looks like a black mirror, softly lapping at the shore. Above it, hovering some ten meters in the shoreline air, levitates a black disk. 

“It arrived some six hours ago,” his father says, as if talking about a piddling package or a paltry ransom demand, or a petty terrorist threat.

Hux can’t look away. He has nothing to say. He can’t quite believe it. His first coherent though after he gathers himself is that this is way above his pay grade and that he’s going to miss his uni classes today.

“Are we first on the scene?” Hux asks after getting his voice in order.

“Yes. I need you to make a list of your people whom we can trust,” his father replies, managing to sound condescending even as he asks for a favor.

Hux nods. That’s really the beginning of everything. 

\--

The first twenty-four hours post arrival of the levitating vessel, the British army secures the site, sets up a base in the nearest vicinity possible, gets in contact with MI5 and MI6, and briefs the PM. There really isn’t a procedure for something like this, but the protocol for any local emergency is clear. 

The first of the responders are, of course, Colonel Hux, and a representative of the MI5. Agent Phasma is the one who usually deals with crisis that pertain to the Colonel or the army, and she is once again on sight when Hux steps into the base. 

Taller than him, and wider in the shoulders by more than another half of his, Agent Phasma is dressed in nothing more than a suit and a comfortable pair of non-heeled boots. She is by far the most dominating presence in the room. Despite the early hour, her cropped hair is coiffed and set, and her face is painted with a bare minimum of makeup. 

Hux has known Agent Phasma for over eight years and yet he still feels somewhat unnerved when meeting her after he’s been brought in to assist the crisis control. He likes to think they built up repour like she built up with the army and his father, who are by now used to her.

She graces him with one of her faint smiles as her eyes light up in recognition. 

Behind her, the soldiers that setting up the communication tent. Large monitors are set up, land lines and phones and Wi-Fi brought in and connected, followed by tables and chairs. 

Hux knows that for now, information containment is of the biggest importance. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for the press to get a hold of any information related to the levitating extra-terrestrial object, not until they at least determine if it’s hostile or not. Good thing that the first responders had the mind to keep the local police, and the fishermen who called it in, until they signed NDAs. 

“Hux, it’s been a while,” Phasma greets, her chin and neck lit up in blue light from her phone screen. 

Hux inclines his head. “I had hoped it would be a new terrorist cell. Two days work at most.”

That makes Phasma’s smile more pronounced. “You’re still giving classes in that uni? I thought you were compensated handsomely for your time with us.”

“Then you clearly haven’t see the uptick in gas prices in the last quarter,” Hux replies with a smile of his own. 

It’s been more than seven months since he last saw the woman in front of him, and he’d almost thought he wouldn’t be seeing her ever again. The last mission he’d assisted had been a spectacular failure, though granted, not due to any failure of his own. He’s a glorified consultant with clearance, nothing more. It isn’t his obligation to call the shots and make decisions, it has always been his father’s.

Hux had felt part relieved that he wasn’t in his father’s calculations anymore, and part disappointed that he was so easily discarded. He’d went to the bank, checked his balance, and decided that it had been a smart idea to keep his teaching position in the Oxford University. It was a bit of a trip from the uni to his home and back, but the money was worth it. His colleague that headed the psychology branch would probably say that regular human contact was necessary for him.

Perhaps, Hux considers as he watches Phasma tapping on her satellite phone, he wouldn’t have been called back if it had been a regular crisis. 

“Our primary investigation unit just delivered samples from the outside of the...shell to the lab. Should have results soon. Other scans proved that there’s no radioactivity. No exhaust, no fumes, nothing. In whatever way the shell is levitating, it doesn’t seem to be connected to an engine,” Phasma tells him as she looks at her phone screen. 

“It’s probably balancing on earth’s natural magnetic fields,” Hux theories. “However, I wouldn’t expect to learn anything about it, nothing at least understandable. It’s far beyond our current level of intelligence.”

 

“Ah, ever the optimist aren’t you Hux?” Phasma replies. She looks up from her phone. “We need a team. Your team, your people, you know the drill. We need to understand how, if not why. Why would be good as well, before this thing eventually leaks.”

Hux presses his lips together, forming a thin line. “As long as they’re kept in the tents, I could scrounge up a team. The regular analysts are here as well?”

“On their way,” Phasma replies, then holds up a finger and picks up her phone on the first ring.

Hux looks around himself. Soldiers hurry around the headquarters, intent of finishing their given assignments. He turns towards the IT sector and decides to find a secure phone as well, and a laptop if he can. 

While Hux makes a preliminary list of scientists who would be useful, the shell’s outward appearance changes. The security unit on the shore reports a portal on the bottom opening. There are no further changes.

By the end of the day the army has gathered an expedition of trained combatants to send to the ship equipped with cameras, dictaphones, and protective suits. As one of the only recruited scientists, Hux volunteers to go with them. 

His father is not amused. He knows Hux well. Shrewd like a hawk, his father says, “You can sate your curiosity once we know there’s nothing deadly up there.”

“Considering they’ve mastered intergalactic travel, I’m sure they also know how to break a couple of necks,” Hux replies. In the end he is permitted to go, but only thanks to Agent Phasma’s prompt arrival and her general uncaring disposition. She needs people up there and she doesn’t care who.

Hux appreciates that though he certainly does care who he will be accompanying inside the vessel. He’s spent enough time around his father to know just what kind of people some soldiers are, or what they can do without a thought for repercussions. He’s glad to learn that the escort unit, consisting of volunteers, is familiar to him. 

Captain Finn Nurlan has been a permanent fixture to his father for the past two years. An excellent soldier, born a leader, young but steady, he’s proved himself to the Colonel who had deemed him capable enough to be allowed within his immediate vicinity. Serving in the expedition team with him are private Dopheld Mitaka, private Peera Mason, and private Lusica Stynnix. All excellent soldiers.

Hux hands an equipment list to the requisitions officer who takes a good look at it and says, “You may not be able to bring up as much.”

“If we want to do more readings we will require everything from regular audio and video recordings to electromagnetic spectrometers,” Hux argues. 

“Sir, four men can only carry so much along with their weapons,” the officer replies, looking uncomfortable for having to argue, but clear in his meaning. 

Fortunately, Hux has learned a long time ago how to compromise to get his way. He cuts some things out, and they decide to take up audio equipment, sample kits, cameras. Nothing major, nothing irreplaceable in case things go terribly, horribly wrong.

Considering they don’t know what to expect, Hux and the escort unit are instructed to get into their personal protective equipment. Hux had expected to get into one of those zip-up hazmat suits but what they’re helped into is nothing like it. 

Their equipment consists of layers and layers of rubber and tyvek, earpieces they immediately insert and mikes that brush uncomfortably against the throat and remind Hux of the mikes famous singers use when performing on stage. Their respirators are tested and attached, gloves and boots are ducttaped to their suit so as not to allow gaps and seams. Hux has a video camera attached to his shoulder in case something goes wrong with the other one. Agent Phasma and the Colonel will be watching everything during the unit’s time within the shell.

Hux feels hot even though he’s just gotten into his suit. Sweat starts forming on his forehead before they’re even out of the base. He has no peripheral version in the plastic helmet he’s given, and movement is incredibly difficult. Though his vitals were taken before he was put into the suit, he feels his heartbeat pick up the pace just from the stress of wearing all the equipment. He knows that fainting, or even a heat stroke is not out of the realm of possibilities for him, he just hopes that it won’t come to that.

Once all five of them are decked out, they’re told to go out and are led to pick-up trucks that take them down to the beach. It’s just past nightfall, and there are strong stadium lights that irradiate the whole beach. While Hux was inside the base they’d built a metal base underneath the shell that has a scissor lift in its centre. It reminds Hux of the lifts the fire brigade uses to get to the top levels of burning buildings. 

In the truck beside them is the simple equipment Hux ended up getting, enough firepower to take down a herd of elephants, and a cage with an unfortunate canary. Hux wonders what exactly they will find up there, if they find anything at all. 

They’re helped off the trucks and their equipment is taken to the lift by another crew of soldiers to ease their experience in the PPE. Hux is certain that out of all of them he’s taking it the worst. Hux’s injured leg twinges in pain from the additional weight of the equipment and the bumpy transportation. Just working with the army, a soldier does not make, much to his father’s consistent disappointment. 

“Sir, we’re ready,” Captain Nurlan says once everything has been loaded onto the lift. 

Hux nods. No use getting worried over this, he rationalizes; either they die in a gruesome way or they don’t. It’s too late to stop now, though his anxiety doesn’t seem to have gotten that info. Alas, if nothing else, it had always been his curiosity that overwhelmed his bigger failings. 

“Let us proceed, then,” Hux replies. 

Captain Nurlan punches a big red button and the lift starts moving. At first, Hux feels fine. He can almost sense the cool night air and wind against his enshrouded body. However, the lift keeps going up, until his vision is completely obscured by what looks like black granite. His anxiety decides to pass the normal levels and itches to go into red. 

Hux has never been claustrophobic, but then again, he doesn’t have to be to feel fear. He’s watched too many films as a kid not to image the walls starting to move, in an attempt to squeeze them to death. 

Nothing happens, and for a while it’s incredibly dark. One of the soldiers finally remembers to break a luminescent stick, which immediately begins to glow in a bright yellow-orange colour. However, even with the light, there just isn't anything to see but their own shadows. It feels like there’s just miles of dark granite walls stretched ahead of them. 

Hux takes deep breaths to calm himself. He wishes the air he’s breathing in was as cool as it is clean. 

A small dot appears above them and for a moment Hux thinks his vision is simply failing him. Then, it expands into a white rectangle, and seems to be coming towards them at an increasing speed. Hux feels weak in the knees. There’s nothing in that white rectangle but pure light, and yet it feels as if it’s drawing not only his gaze but his whole body towards it. He almost feels weightless, as his heart begins to soar with wonder. 

There’s a sudden jolt that shakes them all. 

“That’s as far as the lift will go,” Private Mitaka informs.

Hux shuffles from foot to foot, feeling strangely at a disbalance. He had been certain that he had weighted at least three stone heavier with all the equipment on him. He’d tried leaning on his right leg, to alleviate the pain from his left, but he doesn’t feel the need to do so anymore. He doesn’t feel that pressure anymore. He doesn’t feel much of anything. 

“Pass me a light,” he says to Private Mason.

She hands him a new glow stick from her pack. Hux cracks it, shakes it, and then chucks it up as hard as he can. There’s something embarrassing to be said about his range but it doesn’t matter when the stick, in the next moment, doesn’t fall back down. Instead of falling back to the lift, it sticks to the front wall like a fly, and doesn’t budge.

“We need to jump,” Hux says. 

“Everyone gets one piece of equipment,” Captain Nurlan orders. 

Hux takes his sample kit and, since he’s the lightest of them, leaps first. In a split moment he wonders if he’s just being foolish, and that it’s certainly not going to work. His ever-present doubt has always served as a semblance of a voice of reason. But in the next moment, Hux feels invisible hooks dragging him up and forward, until he doesn’t so much gracefully land as much as he falls onto his face. 

He picks himself up and feels nauseous when he turns around. The floor of the lift and the tops of the soldiers’ heads now face him, making everyone appear as if they were standing on a vertical wall.

He checks if the camera on his shoulder is alright, and Agent Phasma’s voice cuts into his ear. “It’s fine, Hux.”

The soldiers’ landings are much more restrained than his own. Hux waits for all of them to take the leap and bring the equipment up, before he turns towards the screen and starts walking. 

It’s a deceptively long walk. For a while, it feels as if they’re moving in place. Hux has to force himself to watch his legs and feel the tension underneath his feet, feel himself propel forward to believe he is moving. What had looked like a simple length of a few hundred feet, turns into a long thirty-minute walk. The corridor finally comes at an end, spilling into a large and tall rectangle shaped room. 

The screen is even bigger now; the width of the corridor walls had concealed its true size. It covers a whole wall, and it’s incredibly difficult to look away from it. 

Private Mitaka and Private Mason set up the audio and video recording equipment, while Captain Nurlan and Private Stynnix stand guard. 

Hux takes the bird cage and removes the blanket that had been covering it. The canary chirps once, twice, then flaps its wings. Air quality readings tell Hux that the consistency is similar to the regular air on Earth. 

There could be unknown pathogens in the air, on the obsidian ground or the hull of the ship that their equipment just can’t read. If there is, they’re doomed regardless of their efforts or their visitor’s intentions. It wasn’t the Europeans that conquered the new world, it was the disease they carried over with them.

Mitaka and Mason help Hux collect samples of everything he can. They work quietly and quickly. The only sounds disturbing the silence are the canary’s occasional chirp, and a strange, low, radiating sound of the room. It’s almost as if someone turned on an electric heater and turned up the volume.

Once Hux has finished his data collection, he finally turns to the white screen. None of them had approached it, but now that’s the only thing left to do. 

“You can stand back, if you wish,” Hux says into the coms. 

“Copy that,” Captain Nurlan replies for his squad. 

Since they’d been held up at the other end of the room, there’s a trek to the screen. Hux feels unnerved how the distances within the shell appear shorter than they really are. Perhaps it’s because everything just looks the same. The stone, if it’s stone, is the same wherever you look at it, as if someone just turned on a texture pack. 

He realises how distant the screen is from the entrance to the chamber when he turns around and sees the soldiers looking at him, smaller than before. 

Hux looks back and then feels his heart speeding up. A shadow passes behind the screen. It’s a faint flicker, but then it happens again and he’s certain this time that he’s seen it. The outline of it is vague, but the closer Hux gets to the screen the bolder the colour becomes.

Whatever is hiding behind the screen suddenly disappears when Hux comes as close as he can to it. Curious about the constitution of the white film, Hux lifts his hand and touches it. 

He realises it’s not glass, or marble or anything like that. It’s not firm, not in their sense of the word. It feels like an amalgamation of gas, solidified. It feels like numberless spider threads woven one over another but turned on minimum opacity. He doesn’t know if it’s cool, or lukewarm or hot, he doesn’t know if it carries a smell, or even taste. 

In the next moment that thought is pushed out of his mind because the dark shape returns, and Hux feels the vibrations once it touches the other side of the barrier, right beside his hand. 

For a lack of a better comparison, the hand, or finger, or feeler, whatever it is, looks like an octopus tentacle, large suckers connecting to the barrier. 

Hux’s legs lock, his breath is caught in his lungs, and he just can’t look away. He watches the tentacle retreat, but whatever body it belongs to doesn’t come into view. Instead, it turns to black ash and it flies up and sideways and down and settles right in front of Hux, like one giant beam of black in the middle of a white screen the width of Hux himself. It grows wider and shorter until it takes up a giant shape around Hux, like a shadow of a giant.

There’s a roar then, loud and bone-chilling, like metal grating against metal and glass harping against glass. It’s nothing he has ever heard before. It changes once, twice, different pitches and intonations reverberating through the room. Hux thinks he’s going to pass out. 

“Sir?” he hears Captain Nurlan call out to him.

“Hux, report,” Agent Phasma says through the comms. 

“I’m- I...” Hux looks up at the giant shape in front of him and he is lost for words. He withdraws his hand and like a spell that has been broken, the ash vanishes along with a sharp broken sound. 

“Fine, fine. Did you get that?” Hux asks, sounding overwrought even to himself. 

“Retreat, immediately,” his father’s voice comes through. “That’s an order.”

“Yes sir,” he hears himself saying. The sound of the creature lingers inside his ears, a stubborn echo that refuses to leave his bones. It follows him all the way back to the base.

-

It takes the local news two full days and the national news three to cover the story. It’s not just Britain. First, it’s the Australia that contacts them, United States, Greenland and Denmark. Then the governments of Venezuela, Japan and China decide to pick up the phone, followed up in quick succession by Pakistan, Sierra Leone, Sudan and Russia. There’s two in Russia. Of course there’s two shells in bloody Russia of all places. 

All the representatives, when asked, say the same thing: a black disk has appeared somewhere on their territory.

Hux’s preliminary list of scientists gets altered after he returns from the shell, gets cut to half after because of budgeting and gets shorter still, each time someone faints or tries to spread the information. The only thing Hux is adamant about is getting a linguist. A line of communication must be established between them and the creature.

It takes his father some time, but ultimately, he returns with one of the linguists from Hux’s list. 

Rey Kenobi joins the team on the dawn of the third day, replacing Dr. Atkins. She’s led into the base and delivered to Hux by his father, who rises an expectant eyebrow as if Hux is able to immediately diagnose if she’s what he’d been demanding or not. In truth, Hux had seen her work, and found her to be a brilliant linguist. She’s young enough to be reckless and say yes to his father’s demands. 

“This is the mathematics team leader, he will guide you through everything,” his father says.

Kenobi offers her hand and Hux shakes it. “Hux,” he introduces himself. “Rey,” she says in return.

Not at all put off at being woken up at an ungodly hour, her eyebrows bunch up and her mouth quirks. 

“How do your soldiers keep track of who’s who?” she asks humorously. 

“Easy,” Hux replies. “I’m Hux, and he’s Colonel.”

Since his father is a busy man, Hux leads Kenobi through the base, explaining the sections until they reach her own team of linguists and analysts. After the introductions, he guides her to the communication room. 

Six large screens are mounted onto a rig. The screens contain eleven windows, each offering a direct line of communication to the other bases and scientists. In front of them stand two joint desks used for supervision; if there’s a need for the Colonel or Agent Phasma to jump into a conversation, they can do it that way. Behind that control hub are two lines of desks. Each desk has a computer used to communicate with a country that has had a shell visit. 

He leads Kenobi to Agent Phasma, who’s talking with the Japanese. 

“New face?” she asks, checking Rey out before standing. She towers over Hux and Rey, face an impassable icy wall. 

“New head of linguistics,” Hux offers.

“The Japanese tried to overstay their welcome and were kicked out,” she informs him. 

“How long exactly?” Hux asks the man on the screen.

“After a hundred and twelve minutes, and nineteen seconds, the gravity starts to shift and slides us out of the room,” the man on the screen explains. 

“Have you found an explanation for it?” 

“Is it for them?” Agent Phasma presses. 

“Uh, no,” the man on the screen replies. “We think it’s actually for us. Air doesn’t seem to circulate inside the chamber, so after two hours we run out of oxygen.”

All the readings they did, determined that the air within the chamber is breathable. As a result, the PPE was cut back to a hazmat suit, air filtration equipment and coms. Their dexterity is much better now. It’s easier to get from the base to the shell and the work isn’t as hellish as it used to be. It’s also saved on the wear and tear of the human element.

“It doesn’t take eighteen hours to pump fresh air into the room,” Agent Phasma replies succinctly. 

Sparing the good doctor Agent Phasma’s peculiar scrutiny, Hux says, “If their atmosphere is different from Earth’s, it would certainly take hours to re-balance their O2 content and pressure for us every time they open their door.”

Agent Phasma frowns. “So they could suffocate us if they wanted.”

“They could. But the fact they’re putting so much effort means they want us talking to them,” Hux replies. 

Agent Phasma doesn’t look convinced. 

He convinces Kenobi that they move on before Phasma blows a fuse.

“We need answers as quickly as we can get them. Why are they here, where are they from and what is their purpose,” Hux explains as he leads her to the prep room. 

“You were the one who brought me here weren’t you?” Kenobi asks, as if accusing him. “Why?”

“A keen observation,” Hux replied sarcastically but Kenobi doesn’t take the bait. She waits patiently, until he says, “I didn’t. I provided a list. You only so happened to be on top of it.”

He gestures towards the prep room and Kenobi’s focus goes to the hazmat suits, instead of the further line of inquiry.

“What kind of radiation are we talking about here?” she asks once she looks back at Hux.

“Nominal. This is all precaution. You’re going in today, and we better get ready. The doors should be opening in twenty minutes,” Hux tells her. 

After their first expedition, his father made two escort units that change shifts in tandem, assigned to carry the equipment, film all encounters and keep an eye on readings. It’s fortunate that the primary escort unit is on shift today. Hux introduces Kenobi to Captain Nurlan, Mitaka, Mason and Stynnix before they start getting ready.

Once all of them are dressed, they climb in the back of the pick-up trucks that drives them to the beach. He watches Kenobi as she’s jostled in the car, and he likes what he sees. A serious expression covers her face, but not nervous or anxious. She seems eager to see where this will take her. Hux is glad she is not frightened. 

On the shore, they climb into the empty scissor lift. Once the escort unit is ready, the lift comes to life, and pushes them ten meters into the air, until their vision is engulfed only by black stone-like substance of the ship. 

After the preliminary investigation, Hux had gone back to the shell two more times; the number of times there were expeditions before Kenobi arrived. It still feels like he’s mad when he jumps. Yet, the shell’s peculiar gravity catches him, and he’s standing on the side of the entrance that is now it’s floor. Rey follows him, fearless, a grin on her face. Then the escort unit follows with their equipment. 

They walk forward until they’re near the screen that still exudes a brilliant white light. The escort team sets everything up, and a canary is set down on the earth to chirp. Hux hasn’t said anything as not to seem touched, but he’s fairly certain the chamber got smaller since their first visit. Their walk to the screen is shorter as well, taking up just a minute or two, and the screen’s size halved at the very least. Unlike the first time, now when he’s near the screen and looks back, there are no size distortions. 

“What now?” Rey asks. 

“Now, we wait until it comes,” Hux explains. 

The first time he’d seen the creature, it had felt like something out of his dreams and he’d not known if that was a good thing or not. Not because it had been frightening, or anything of the sort. But the simple notion that they weren’t alone in the universe, not even in their galaxy and solar system, was disturbing. Exciting. It’s mind-boggling and gut churning, and probably the most profound piece of knowledge in his life. 

Hux watches now as a single black dot appears on the otherwise perfect white screen. They barely noticed it the first time round. Then, the dot grows in circumference until it’s the size of a basketball. Its size grows bigger and bigger until it suddenly elongates, looking almost like a flame frozen in a moment. The lines turn jagged, and the picture turns three dimensional. What they see is merely a shadow of the being in front of them. Then, like a dune in strong wind, it disperses in front of them into black sand, and its form doesn’t stabilise again. Instead, it shifts, like swimming in the air, forming loose figure eights. The tentacle shape doesn’t reappear. 

A vague sense of nostalgia arrests Hux whenever he sees the creature, as if he’s witnessed this more times that he really has. The bright light, the sounds of the creature’s disintegrating form, the noise it produces from invisible vocal chords, all of it is familiar to him. It’s as if he’d seen a tv-show of it somewhere on the telly as a kid; he doesn’t know where, but he definitely recognizes it.

He looks at the young linguist next to him, who gazes upon the creature in shock. She’s covered in sweat, with disbelief and wonder written on her face. She’s unresponsive to their questions. She can’t speak at all. Hux can relate. He didn’t expect anything different. This was designed to just be a visit to record a bit and introduce Kenobi to the creature so after they’re done, Hux gently guides her out of the shell. Only once they’re back in the base, feet touching solid ground of the prep room, does her mind come back to her. 

“Am I fired?” is the first thing she says to him. 

“As long as you don’t vomit on my shoes, no,” Hux replies. 

Kenobi laughs, putting her head between her knees, but even like that Hux can hear her joy reverberate through the room and occupy the air they’re in. It’s infectious. It’s a brightness Hux doesn’t possess. It’s human.

The warmth in his chest almost makes him forget about the news coming out of major cities. Public outrage and fear mongering has infected thousands. The journalists report that people have begun to stock up on food, overdraw their bank accounts, protest. Public hysteria and riots are soon to follow.


	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbetaed.

The Colonel strongly encourages the language and mathematics teams to not watch public news via strong cocktail of eighteen-hour work schedules and six-hour rest cycles. Regardless of his efforts, some of the outside information seeps in. 

The research departments may be sequestered, but the rest of the soldiers keep to their usual schedule, which includes personal recreation time. 

Kenobi, who is a social butterfly and has somehow managed to endear herself to the officers in the escort unit, comes back bearing information that usually consist of terrible, often wrong and inaccurate news the soldiers have heard on the telly. 

Hux doesn’t know whether to be appalled at the casual mistreatment of factual truth, the media’s blatant fear mongering, or the fact that people are buying it. Hux refuses to give it any more thought, though Kenobi has all the time in the world for it.

“Sure, we’re stocking up and yelling general obscenities at the PM, but when have we not? Most of the people are taking it like we’ve always taken it,” Kenobi says during their lunch break.

“And which way is that?” Hux inquires, though he knows he shouldn’t be reinforcing bad behaviour. 

“With a morbid dose of intrigue, some black humour, and general repression of any feelings,” Kenobi replies as she attacks her poor salad with ravenous vigour. She considers her prey then looks at him and adds, “The international stage is much worse.”

Hux looks down at his paltry meal consisting of salad, mystery minced meat, mashed potatoes from a pack and Tesco bread. It’s actually sad how he’s more used to army rations over normal food. 

He wishes he were back home. He’d put in an effort in planned out his meals, even cooked ahead. By now, the chicken tikka masala he’d made, the tuna sandwich he’d actually looked forward to, not to mention all of his salads and cooked eggs have probably gone off. When, if he ever, gets back home, he will have his hands full with cleaning. 

It’s this kind of crazy and unexpected excursions that make it impossible to keep a pet around, for which he is incredibly embittered. 

“Let me guess,” Hux says, “The Americans are taking it the hardest.”

Rey laughs even though her mouth is full. After a bit she responds, “You should watch their morning shows. It’s all sensationalism. I am not exaggerating.”

“Colonel Organa has a very aggressive approach that befits American general reaction to crisis,” Hux says, remembering the woman’s stern face on one of the screens. 

“She’s alright,” Kenobi responds in disagreement. 

Hux thinks Colonel Organa is competent but unpleasant. He doesn’t go any further than admitting that even to himself. Hux knows British army doesn’t ask for that sort of loyalty from him, but when one is taught something from a young age, it tends to stick. Besides, he had conversed with the woman on one memorable occasion three years back and she had been stern, full of herself and unnecessarily honest about her displeasure with being there. 

She had been on private time in London when a crisis in Pakistan struck. With no time to return to the States, she was forced to overlook and command the situation through the British intelligence centres. Of course, had the British and American troops not been working together, she wouldn’t have been given that kind of access. It was a show of good faith, Hux remembers his father sneering before Organa had walked into the room. 

Hux doesn’t voice any of this. Instead, he listens to Kenobi’s reignited chatter about the news, and finishes his meal. 

His thoughts inadvertently stray back to Colonel Organa, to her somehow familiar face though he’d only seen her a few times in his life. 

A soft voice hums into his ear saying his name, and when he turns around he’s not in the base anymore. Instead, he’s sitting in a chair at his work desk in his own living room. A dark-haired man is standing in front of him -- Kylo, Hux’s brain offers though no further information ensues. 

He towers over Hux. His broad shoulders block the lights that form a soft glowing halo around the man’s long dark hair. His forehead is creased in concern, eyes boring into Hux, his shadow falling over Hux and cloaking him in darkness.

Kylo’s mouth opens as if he wishes to speak but then he shuts it and shakes his head. One of his large, warm hands rests over Hux’s wrists. The other connects with Hux’s cheek before Kylo rests a knee between Hux’s legs and leans forward, making the chair underneath them creak. He’s above Hux, tantalizingly close. He’s beautiful, Hux thinks, he always has been. Their mouths are inches apart. Expectation sparks between them as their warm breaths mingle. Kylo closes his eyes first and then Hux closes his, just before their lips connect into a chaste kiss.

Hux blinks and he sees Kenobi standing above him, a concerned expression marring her young face. 

“You alright?” she asks, squeezing his shoulder. 

“Just...lost in thought, sorry,” Hux replies, trying to shake himself awake. 

“You should probably catch more sleep,” Kenobi tells him. “There’s are pills.”

“Sure,” Hux replies, swallowing his embarrassment. His insomnia had never before been brought into question.

Kenobi looks at him, her lips pressed into a thin line that quirks on one side. Then she says, “I’m going back to work.”

Hux returns to his own computer, trying to focus back on what he’d been doing before the lunch break. He works some, sleep less, and by the end of the twenty-two hour cycle, he’s back in the shell. This time Kenobi is much more stable on her feet. She took a whiteboard with her from the base, saying it will help her understand the creature. Since communication is her department, Hux has no complaints.

The second session starts as mundane as the first one. The escort team sets up the equipment and begins filming. The creature arrives, shaping itself and unravelling into grain like substance that responds to their every movement, flying, uninhibited, across the white screen. This session he’s on the back burner, giving Kenobi the stage to perform whatever magic she has.

Kenobi writes ‘human’ on the board and approaches the screen. She’s not too close, but closer than anyone except Hux has been before. The hazmat suit hides the tremors within her body, the uncertainty and nervousness that becomes evident only as she taps her chest to the word ‘human’ but garners no reaction from the creature. 

She deletes it and writes her name on the board instead. Gesticulating to herself and the board, she points to the creature but again it doesn’t respond to her. 

Hux supposes it’s the same as if a monkey were to try explaining communal grooming to a human. Or perhaps something even simpler, like a twig, or a very sharp rock. There’s barely a two percent difference in the DNA link between humans and chimpanzees. A two percent that allowed humans to develop an intelligence far bigger than that of a chimp. All of human civilization, poetry, music, mathematics, astrophysics, everything that humans have created is because of those two percent difference in the DNA chain.

The smartest of the monkeys can stack boxes, do simple sign language, get the fruit they want through logical labour, but so can a toddler. Hux wonders what the difference is between humans and the creature that has learned to control the interstellar waters of the universe, cruise through them to arrive here on Earth. He wonders if they’re all just stacking boxes. 

Hux also wonders if the creature is limited to the three dimensions as humans are, if its vision is somewhat more x-ray and infrared than the colours humans perceive. After all, it’s possible the creature has been trying to talk to them in other ways, completely unknown and unknowable to them. 

The shell itself is a structure made from a material that appears to be granite, with a slight but natural magnetism that complies to the Earth’s and uses it to hold itself in its upright levitating position. Also, somehow this creature has managed to make a whole other atmosphere in a space no bigger than Denis Arnold Hall. There are no radiation waves, no obvious sound of fuel. Then again, if they’re intelligent enough, they could have figured out a way to power the shell by solar energy. 

All these questions within Hux’s mind come to a halt when he sees Rey Kenobi start stripping out of her hazmat suit. Nervousness spreads through the room, the escort team demanding she re-dress herself, before asking for orders from Colonel and Agent Phasma that spectate from the base. 

No order to leave comes. Kenobi is allowed to continue. 

Hux watches her approach the milky white screen. She holds the whiteboard to her chest repeating her name. Then she presses her hand to her chest. 

Fuck it, Hux thinks. There’s no radiation, no obvious harm they could come to. There’s a reason this creature is here, despite Agent Phasma’s paranoia and general world opinion. There’s a reason why it has made an effort to create conditions within which humans can breathe. The labs have not even found a trace of fungi or bacteria when they’d done the tests. As long as the canary sings, he’ll be fine. 

Hux takes off his mask first. In quick succession of movements, he disrobes of the hazmat suit and approaches Kenobi, who looks at him with something akin to gratefulness he really doesn’t deserve. 

Emboldened with adrenaline, Hux has no fear of reaching out and touching the white screen. It surprises him to learn it’s warm and amiable under his hand, but sturdy enough that Hux knows he won’t be able to break through. 

As if it had been waiting for it the whole time, the creature finally reacts. It shapes itself into a black circle the size of Hux’s palm and expands, until it forms a perfect radius around it. Then, in a crude mimic, the excess sand falls away, leaving a black hoop with different squiggles around it, like someone had taken a calligraphy brush and drawn a large circle until all the ink was gone. It lingers but only for a moment. Then the ash that had made the circle falls away as well, reconnecting with the rest of the creature. The sand reshapes itself into one entity that stands in front of Kenobi and her board. 

Unafraid she touches the screen. Her hand moves back to the whiteboard and her own chest. Once more she points her finger toward the creature. It, once again, creates a circle but a different looking one. This time it appears not that it’s mimicking Kenobi but has responded to the writing on the board. Finally, it has understood them, and finally they have something to work on. 

Rey turns and looks at Hux with a big grin on her face. But Hux knows that now, their future will be filled with nothing but work. 

“I think it’s a name,” Hux says. 

“Sure, but I can’t read it. How about we give it a name?” Rey replies. 

Hux hums amused. “How about...Ben?” 

“Perfect.”

-

As expected, and Hux supposes he really should have warned Kenobi, his father is furious when they get back to the base. It’s not because Kenobi had removed the hazmat suit and endangered herself, no. He’s furious that she did not get clearance for trying to make the creature learn. Hux knows the Colonel has to have his stamp of approval on everything, especially what happens during the mission, but Hux had thought that ‘teaching’ and ‘language’ fell into the ‘linguist’ category that Kenobi represents.

It’s not an argument. It can’t be. They’re of two different ranks. His father has the authority, the power. He doesn’t weight his words when he says, “It’s stupid to expect both writing and speaking to be understood. I have to explain everything you do in the shell to a room full of men, who will decide if it’s all worth the trouble. That’s why everything you do has to be vetted, I need to know everything you’re going to do.”

Hux can’t say anything and has no wish to, not with the escort unit still there. It would be stupid to undermine the Colonel’s authority here, for this. It’s unfortunate that they didn't even get to go out of the prep room before being accosted like this. 

A brilliant army mastermind, alas his father has never seen eye to eye with science, only hard logic. Linguistics, though considered softer, carry universal scientific truths. And something like an alien that has mastered travel through space, surely won’t have a problem learning two rudimentary things such as this. If humans can do it, so can it. 

Kenobi bristles, and though she looks even younger with her hair wet from the shower and baggy jumper over her damp skin, her eyes are fierce when she replies, “Colonel, I will have to respectfully disagree. It’s faster. A complex mind that can both travel to our country and build something like the shell, surely has intelligence high enough to understand two basic functions a seven-year-old human kid does.”

“We don’t need a seven-year-old kid, we need to know why they are here,” the Colonel replies, voice sharp like a laser cut glass.

Rey takes a deep breath. Hux watches her square up her shoulders. He can’t really see her face from his place on the bench, but he knows the signs. He expects her to start shouting. His left leg flares up in pain, as it has always done when he’s in his father’s unforgiving presence.

However, Kenobi surprises him when she says, “Kangaroo.”

“Excuse me?” the Colonel replies, baffled.

“Captain James Cook, after arriving to Australia, asked the Aboriginals what the name was of the animal that held its young in a pouch. The Aboriginals replies ‘kangaroo’,” Rey replies. “Only later did they understand that ‘kangaroo’ wasn’t the name of the animal, but the Aboriginal way of saying ‘I don’t understand’. I need to teach them our language quickly, so we don’t have another ‘kangaroo’ on our hands.”

His father’s red face cools, and his usual paleness overtakes his now serious cheeks. Bested by Rey, after a long moment, he orders, “A list of words, by tomorrow. We need to approve them.” 

He leaves the tent, followed behind by Captain Nurlan whose face had not shifted the whole time, but who now gives Kenobi a lingering look before he rushes to attend his commanding officer. 

“Nice story,” he comments, knowing it’s false. 

She turns towards him and asks, “How the hell did you live with him?”

“Very carefully,” Hux replies, smiling softly at her.

Kenobi’s eyebrows frown but she returns his smile. “How long do you think he’ll buy it?”

“So long he’s kept from google,” Hux says, standing up. The pain is still there, as it always is these days, but it’s manageable. 

Kenobi considers him and then says, “You know it’s false. But it proves my point.”

“I know. You have good and quick thinking,” Hux replies, feeling generous. She is technically his colleague, but he feels infinitely older for these ten years that separate them in age. It makes him feel fraternal. 

Remembering himself, Hux says, “Make him that list.” Kenobi doesn’t argue.

\--

The moment they’re back to their teams, pictures of the black rings are printed and pinned to a whiteboard. Whatever the creature had told them, in its own way, it meant something to it. They just need to figure out which one means human and take it from there. 

Hux leaves Rey to her own ways, while he focuses on his own expertise. The facts are: they aren’t alone. There are twelve more shells in the world. There are twelve bases. Hux wants him and Kenobi to be the first ones to crack this mystery open. He wants to be the first one to understand. It’s narcissistic but he knows how to control himself and, furthermore, he knows how to play diplomat to get what he wants. Sharing information now is vital. He knows that, sooner or later, one of those eleven remaining bases is going to figure out something vital, and he needs to know what it is when it happens. 

He goes in search of Agent Phasma and finds her in the communication room. He asks permission to contact Australia and USA to which she gives a tentative yes. 

“You know how this works,” she states.

Hux still feels compelled to reassure her by replying, “Share but not too much. Scope them out first, prompt them to talk. I know.”

He has had, on occasion, shared information with their allies though the stakes have been different, and the people he’d been talking with were trained operatives. This time, when Australia connects, he doesn’t see a blank face staring at him. Instead it’s an older woman, dark skinned with black hair, serious set of dark eyes and a firm lip. When she smiles at him, the sternness takes a back step, becoming a potential rather than reality. 

“Hello,” she says in a melodic accented voice. “I’m Professor Mills.”

“Hux,” Hux replies evenly. “Nice to meet you.”

He fakes a smile, she smiles at him sincerely. It always starts there. 

“So, to business,” Professor Mills says, shuffling through papers on her desk. 

Two hours later Hux disconnects with Mills who was perfectly willing to share everything, not because she wasn’t warned not to, but because she was a scientist and she had always, before this, shared her findings. Phasma had been there the whole time, and now stares at him as he scribbles down his notes.

Phasma is intelligent beyond reproach but even she approaches him and asks, “Anything particularly useful?”

“It seems that complex behaviours are far more easily understood, than simple ones,” Hux replies. It’s obvious, he should have known, he simply hadn’t the time, nor the mind to try an experiment. 

Phasma is quiet to as to prompt him to talk. 

“Think of it like this,” Hux tells her, seeing movement out of the corner of his eye and forcing himself to ignore it. “It is more than probable that the creature is far more intelligent than us. The closest we get to speaking its language or showing it things similar to the way it thinks, it’s far more probable it will understand us.”

Hux realises that it means that they could, potentially, have answers to all the theories and equations that have been plaguing the professors in the last three hundred years. It means that everything from magnetic fields to inter-universal Teichmüller theory could be resolved. They could finally know what black matter is. 

“So, Kenobi was right,” Phasma replies. 

“Yes. How are things on your end, if I may ask?” 

Phasma turns her eyes to a screen showing Al Jazeera news. She leans against an empty desk, folding her arms. 

“Not everyone is in the mood for love,” Phasma replies. “You got Australia because US is not taking any risks, and while they’re talking, they’re not talking anywhere near enough.”

“Would they nuke it?” Hux asks. 

Phasma’s eyes flash warningly. She says, “Whatever the US does, it always does for its own benefit. Declaring war on their shell is just another way to curb public opinion. Colonel Organa is not stupid.”

Hux nods and leaves the comm room. Now that they truly have a joint target, the mathematics and language teams have created a little grey area with whiteboards, chairs and desks that contain all the information they have collected. He’s working on one of the whiteboards, trying to surmise all the info he got from Professor Mills, when Kenobi comes in looking harassed, the Colonel hot on her heels. 

“--Eat, walk?” The Colonel is saying, holding a piece of paper. “These are all primary school words.”

Kenobi doesn’t roll her eyes, but she does take a very long breath. She turns towards Hux, rushes towards the whiteboard, and takes the marker out of his hand and pushing him out of the way. 

Stunned, he watches as Kenobi wipes the middle of the whiteboard with her sleeve and writes down: 

What is your purpose on Earth?

Kenobi explains, “We need to teach them what a question is, if they don’t know. Then, we have to move to pronouns. Collective you and singular you need to be differentiated, we care why all twelve Shells landed, not just our creature. Then we need to build up enough vocabulary, so we understand what their response is when we pose the questions.”

To Hux’s ears it’s a solid plan. The Colonel seems to agree though he doesn’t seem very happy about it. 

“Fine,” he replies, “But you can’t add anything to it.”

Kenobi nods and only relaxes once the Colonel is gone. 

“Half an hour until the next opening,” Hux informs her and plucks the marker from her hands, wiping the words from the whiteboard and returning to his equation. 

\--

The next time they’re in the shell, Kenobi and he aren’t in hazmat suits. Hux knows that the army is obligated to dress them, but if it’s their own decision to take them off, the army can’t necessarily force them not to do it. The small whiteboard is back, and a screen is brought in to show pictures to the creature coinciding with the words Kenobi wishes to teach it. 

Even though Hux has witnessed it every time, there is still something incredibly arresting as he watches the creature appear. The first shape formed, the dispersing into ash, the loose shapes it takes as it flies from one end of the screen to the other. 

Hux watches it near the screen, and it shocks him when the cruising suddenly stops. It levitates above Hux’s head and then it crushes down, as if the gravity had disappeared. Hux’s heart leaps in his chest, worried. The ash piles, and piles and piles, and only when it reaches Hux’s waist does Hux realise it’s not falling but rising. At first, it’s vague. The shape the creature takes is larger than Hux, not a shadow, but a kid’s attempt at an outline. Hux realises this only when he steps back, but the shape retains its form. 

“Are you seeing this?” he hears someone say through the comms. 

The creature holds the shape for a moment longer, before Kenobi steps close to the screen. Like a house of cards, blown by the wind, the shape topples and the dust that is the creature starts flying behind the screen once again. 

Slightly disappointed but unwilling to show it, Kenobi simply picks up her whiteboard. Walk, is the first word. Hux shows the motion. He shows it multiple times, until the creature finally draws a circle that represents walk. 

Their work is gruelling, and they manage next to no progress in the two hours they’re given. Still, it’s something. Something more than they had before. 

Hux is exhausted when they finish and it’s a tick past three in the morning. Knowing he won’t be getting anything done staying up, he finds his bed and, surprising of all, drift to sleep. 

Regrettably, he wakes up soon after. His sleeping trailer is engulfed in darkness, though soft blue light is fighting with the blinds to be let through. His eyes are used to the darkness by now, so now everything just appears in different shades of charcoal grey. 

Irritated with himself and his stubbornness when it comes to taking sleep inducing medication, Hux throws his legs over the edge of his bed and stands. He’d fallen asleep dressed, so now he just puts his shoes on before he exits the trailer and goes to the tents. 

All of the screens are turned off, as are the lights. Hux hasn’t seen anyone yet, though he knows the skeleton crew should be somewhere up and about. 

Suffocated by the darkness and faced with his own yet unachieved goals, Hux hurries from the tents out into the morning air. The beach is near, and he walks towards it until he can’t see the army base tents, land rovers, nor the shell. That way he can pretend he’d just gone down to Devon, that he was perhaps on a holiday. He’d visited here before, though then he had not been alone. 

The air is cold. It blows cool from the dark ocean and Hux breathes it in, hoping it would chill his mind, so it would stop overthinking and overworking. He feels arms around him, strong, dependable, and he doesn’t startle. A warm chest is pressed to his back, and he leans into it, wanting to chase the chill away. 

His own arms cover the ones around his waist and he leans back and tilts his head up. He catches sight of dark hair, of pale skin, then of dark eyes that are engulfing, and arresting, and so full of absolute adoration that Hux feel bare when held within them. 

Kylo’s pink mouth quirks and lowers so it can kiss his cheek, his temples and jaw and his neck. 

“It’s a shame,” Hux says, looking out into the horizon line and up to the sky. “It’s such a shame.”

His voice breaks, and Kylo holds him closer.

Hux awakes with a start, in his sleeping trailer. He’s in pyjamas he’d fallen asleep in. The dream threatens to linger but is overpowered by the incessant knocking on his doors once more -- the standard wake-up call. 

Today, he knows, he will go to the tent, meet Kenobi, and work. He will go into the shell and teach the creature more words. He will puzzle over the inky circles it replies with, and then he will talk with the Australians. He will catch a sight of Phasma, and catch Captain Nurlan’s sight directed at Kenobi, and he will ignore both. And then he will fall asleep alone, once more. 

Hux goes through his morning routine quickly, feeling as if he has displaced something incredibly important.


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still unbetaed.

Chapter Three

After some consideration, Kenobi and Hux agree to start numbering their sessions in the shell for archival reasons. While Hux’s own initial expeditions were recorded, what’s truly important is the work they do on understanding the creature, not just it’s mere discovery. Of course, they know nobody outside of the army will see them but they’re professionals. They take a little pride in what they do.

Each day Hux and Kenobi are checked over by the doctors, their vitals taken. Each day they are offered hazmat suits which they refuse. A large whiteboard is taken up by the escort team to serve at their disposal. 

In truth, Kenobi does most of the work. Despite her age she is deeply patient. She cajoles the creature to understanding, repeating parts of sessions or indeed, a whole session, for as long as necessary until Ben finally gives them his answer.  
Hux is a bit starstruck, and a whole lot more envious. However, within the shell or the base, there is no place for envy. Hux reserves his irrational emotions for private time in his sleeping trailer and focuses on the work. 

What they discover after twelve painstaking sessions is that the creature will now take up Kenobi’s -- “Please call me Rey” -- shape and be a spit replica of her size and weight if not detail if she stands close enough to the screen. However, when Hux stands in front of it, by himself, it will take up a slightly larger figure. When they stand side by side, something which should have confused the creature, Ben simply chooses Hux and takes up that larger shape. 

“I think you’re his favourite,” Rey says, smiling. There’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye, but then again, there always is one. 

“I think we should test the theory,” Hux says and turns towards the soldiers. “Maybe it just doesn’t like you.”

“Not likely,” Rey replies, confident. Still, she follows Hux’s line of thinking and turns her eyes towards the soldiers as well. 

“I need a volunteer,” Hux says into his microphone. “Someone to get close to the screen beside us.”

“What are you doing?” his father’s voice comes crackling over the comms.

“It won’t take long,” Hux promises. 

After a moment, he hears Phasma’s, “Proceed.”

When he turns around again, none of the soldiers have stepped forward. Hux doesn’t know what’s there to be so terrified about, but then again, he isn’t the one stupid enough to indulge watching the telly. God knows what they’ve been saying on there about their visitors and filling the soldiers’ head. After all, prejudices can be easily built, though incredibly difficult to destroy. 

In the end it’s Captain Nurlan that offers to do it. Hux hadn’t expected anything different. He’s the captain of the escort unit for one, he’s supervised by the Colonel himself for the other, and Rey is there. Hux would have made a face if there wasn’t a camera on him. 

Nurlan takes his hazmat suit off quickly, and in no more than five minutes is standing next to Rey. 

“Captain,” Hux says to bring his attention to the issue at hand. “I need you to stand in front of the screen, now please.”

The captain nods and does as he’s told. Hux notes the fit of his uniform before he focuses on the creature’s response. It swirls above Nurlan’s head, and in a familiar fashion descends, building up a prop replica, a shadow of Captain Nurlan in his exact proportions. 

Hux catches Rey’s eye, and she has a large grin on her face. 

“Thank you, Captain. You may return to your station,” Hux snaps. 

Nurlan doesn’t need to be told twice. He re-dresses into the hazmat suit and waits for the session to be over by staring into the monitor of the camera. 

Hux would have said something, and he’s sure Rey would have said something as well, but they’re being recorded, so they keep it to themselves until the end of the session. They bathe, re-dress, and head back to the workspace. New pictures of the circles are printed. 

He hears somewhere behind him a soft, “Thank you, Finn,” before Rey comes into view. 

“We will agree to keep quiet about this,” she says as she sits down and looks at the new pictures. 

“Oh absolutely,” Hux replies. 

They return to their work. 

\--

Studying the circles Ben leaves them is as mind-numbing as it is interesting. Each quirk, each dash, each blob carries different meanings. They still don’t know much of anything. There are dozens of things they don’t know, some of which are: what species is the creature? 

They can’t answer that in any meaningful way. It doesn’t leave footprints of any kind, they can just see it and hear it. The chemical composition of the ship is unknown. The shell emits no waste, gas or radiation. It doesn’t affect anything around it and in turn is not affected by anything around it, not the moon cycles, the oceans winds, rain or tide.

If the shells communicate with each other, they do so undetected; the air around the shells is untroubled by sonic emissions or light wave. 

Are they scientists? Diplomats? Merely tourists? If they’re scientists they’re not asking many questions. If they’re tourists they’re not seeming much, staying in just one place. 

How do they communicate? That one, Rey cracks fifteen sessions in. The revelation came one very tired evening, after she had imbued her third Red Bull and Hux had decided he was either going to crack his mug of tea over his own head or fold and go to bed. 

She had hit the table with both of her hands, then lifted them up, transfixed. 

“Hux, I think I get it,” she had said, still staring at her computer screen.

“What is it?” Hux replied already alarmed. 

It turns out she has discovered that there’s no correlation between what the creature says and what it writes. Unlike all written human languages, its writing is semasiographic. It conveys meaning. It doesn't represent sound.

The next morning, they contact the other nations, which were either on the border, or have also just discovered the same. Though it feels it’s just their own two teams, there’s twelve times that. 

Everyone, even the Chinese, share their information wholeheartedly. It’s because they’re scientists, Hux reminds himself. He can see joy on the people’s faces despite the frustrations, the long hours, the terrible food. They are learning, they are discovering. It’s why they are what they are. 

Hux takes back seat to Rey, feeling like a fraud. He loves his own field of expertise, loves math and coding and engineering and physics. He has four fucking PhDs. It’s excessive. It’s too excessive. The worst thing is, he’s fairly certain he got them just because he wanted to be useful, because he couldn’t follow in his father’s footsteps. Whether the love came out of necessity, or whether it was fulfilled because of it doesn’t matter. He watches Rey, who has passion within her about her line of work and study, and he watches it mirrored back to her from the screens. 

There is no envy anymore, Hux realises. Hux is merely disappointed with himself. He hasn’t done anything with his life. There’s nothing permanent, nothing to stick, except the army. Whenever he had tried, with a pet, with friends, with a lover, they had all gone. 

Now, formal relationships fill his days: acquittances, colleagues, superiors. He hasn’t the time nor the energy for any more lovers that will, unquestionably, leave him. What he has is a father that needs him on occasion, a bum leg from an injury in training camp, and an unhealthy dependant relationship with the army complex that is known for chewing up and spitting out anyone who sets foot in it. 

Worse of all, the more Rey works, the less his father is satisfied. So instead of the Colonel, Hux thinks about the circles. He thinks about the words.

\--

There’s an essential feeling of looking in when you’re aware during your dreams. Yes, you experience whatever your other self is experiencing, but it’s overshadowed by your very knowledge that you can control what you’re seeing or that, indeed, it’s a dream. There are no stakes, and you rewind, and rewind, and rewind and experience everything all over again. 

That’s how Hux knows that what he’s seeing is not a dream. He’s in his home again, and it’s an early bright morning. In his hand is a cup of tea, still pipping hot. He walks slowly through his living room, tracing the back of his couch, feeling the pleated texture underneath his fingertips. There’s a calendar on the wall, one that he always forgets to check. The numbers are clear, as are the words written underneath a circled number fifteen. 

He’s chilly, but not chilly enough to forego opening the balcony doors that lead to his back yard. Hux has spent most of his savings buying his home. It was as far from the industrious centre of Oxfordshire that allowed for comfort. He loves his big yard, and the patch of land that stretched across a field and ends in a patch of oak trees. It’s comfortable and private, and if Hux has done anything right in his life, it’s getting this house.

He’d bought it only recently, three and a half years ago, when it was clear that he was going to have to give up his dreams of being a successful young man living in the heart of London, or slowly lose his mind to traffic, pollution and alcohol. 

There are a couple of flower beds he’d tried installing near the windows that are struggling under the weight of morning dew and are, all in all, a sorry lot of forget-me-nots. A bit further away are some more robust plants, mainly vegetables that have grown tall, and form a nice rectangle. The buds are just coming in.  
Hux thinks, privately, that if his mother had been alive, she would have loved his home and that brings him comfort. 

Hux grabs a blanket from the armchair near the balcony doors, wraps it around himself, and sits down on the steps that lead into the garden and the field. He leans against the doorframe and drinks his tea. Slowly, he watches a figure appear in the distance, growing larger as it approaches him. 

Hux doesn’t move. He’s bathed in soft feelings of fondness as he observes the figure that turns into a man, that turns into Kylo. When he finally reaches Hux, Kylo looks as drenched in dew as the flowerbeds. His lips are cold when they press against Hux’s temple, his hands icy when they caress Hux’s cheeks. 

“I feel like one day you’ll wander off, and all of this will finally start feeling like a dream,” Hux says into his cup of tea. 

Kylo’s laugh is soft. “I’m learning so much,” he says. “I have never thought there would be so much to know. Did you know fungi can talk to each other?”

“It’s quite interesting,” Hux agrees. “But my mind has been set on astrophysics as of late.”

Kylo hums and sits down next to him. After a bit of coaxing, he convinces Hux to give him his cup of tea, which Kylo uses mainly to warm his hands. 

“I’ve been forgetting things as well. I can’t write it all quickly enough before it’s gone,” Kylo says slowly. 

He stops to mull over his words. Then he says, “I’m afraid of this change. I feel as if I won’t be the same before and after. What if I forget who I am? What if I forget what I was? What if I stop being able to see everything?”

Hux feel panic rise in his chest. His heart clenches, hard enough to hurt. Suddenly, the morning is nothing more than cold. He sits next to Kylo in silence, thinking about what the man had told him. 

“You won’t,” he finally replies. “We’re working on putting the pieces together. Soon, the project will be over. If you ever do forget, I will teach you again.”

Kylo smiles, and says, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do for you. You’ve changed my world,” Hux says. 

Kylo’s cheeks redden and he laughs. 

Hux feels the panic dissipate slowly, and he sighs in relief. “Kylo, were you afraid back then? Did I force it on you?”

“No,” Kylo replies quickly. “You did nothing of the sort.”

He takes Hux’s hand in his, pressing his lips to Hux’s knuckles. “I could have changed things before even coming here, I could have told everyone what was going to happen. But I didn’t because I knew that, in the end, you were waiting.”

Kylo keeps talking afterwards but it feels like Hux’s hearing shuts off. He can’t move, he can’t talk, and when he closes his eyes and opens then again, he’s no longer in his home. Instead, he’s staring at a computer screen which has just beeped to inform him it has finished going through calculations. 

Hux gives himself a few moments to compose himself, before opening the tab with finished calculations. He’s glad to be distracted, otherwise he would have to think, and he would rather deal with impossible calculations than question his subconscious. 

He’s surprised to find Rey next to him. It’s barely past six in the morning and she has no business being awake so early. 

She hands him a lukewarm earl grey and says, “Breakfast, yeah?”

Hux pushes himself up from his chair and winces. Pins and needles course through his left leg, and he hobbles a few steps until it passes. The pain flairs up then, and he wishes he had a painkiller right about now. His leg hadn’t hurt in his dream, or whatever that was. 

If nothing else, the army does breakfast justice. There’s piping hot coffee and tea, scones with butter and jam, porridge, ham and blood sausage, and, if you like, a full English breakfast. 

The soldiers wake up before the science teams do, so Rey and Hux are the only two civilians in the service tent. They each grab a tray and get their breakfast rations. Hux doesn’t think he’s hungry until the smell of sausage is wafting towards him.

“Do you want to go outside?” Rey asks him, even as she’s nearing the exit of the service tent. 

“Sure,” he replies, and follows her out. They don’t go very far but they edge the base’s perimeter, out of earshot and out of sight. The grass is damp when Hux sits down. It’s fresh outside but Hux enjoys the feeling of ocean air on his skin. Finally, he looks down at his tray and digs into his food.

It had dawned around five, but the tendrils of night still cling to the sky, making it a darker blue than it should be. The sun has just glanced in their direction, but it has already started to heat the eastern side of the base. The dark ocean at their feet is calm and unbothered, softly licking at the beach and the cliff edges. 

Rey clears her throat and sets her tray by her side. She drinks from her coffee cup, which has by now probably gone cold. 

“Have you,” she starts but words fail her at the last moment. She makes a face, but then pushes on. “Have you by any chance been having dreams?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s part of the normal sleep cycle,” Hux replies. His tray is by now empty and he wishes he hadn’t eaten as much as he did. 

“No, I mean. Dreams that don’t exactly…feel like dreams. You know.” 

Hux looks at Rey and rises an eyebrow long enough that she gets the point that no, no he doesn’t and even if he did, he would not want to talk about it. 

“Oh, never mind,” she finally huffs. 

Hux looks at his clock, then back out to the sea. “Session…twenty-nine? I feel like I have had this exact same day, the past two days.”

“Hux,” Rey says in a joking tone. “Are you saying I’m boring you?”

Hux snorts softly. “Well, I hadn’t wanted to be rude.”

“You bastard,” she laughs, bumping his shoulder with her fist. 

Indeed, Hux has begun most of his days in this exact same position, he and Rey sitting next to each other and eating. She would wander around until she found him sleeping in a chair, or the corner of the tent, or, rarely, in his trailer and they would have breakfast. 

“I miss home,” Rey says, staring off into the sea.

Hux doesn’t know what it says about him that he doesn’t miss his own house. 

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing that I got the chance to work on this project, it’s just that somehow, I feel like we’ve stopped being people,” Rey explains. “We get up, eat and work and receive orders, say ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir’, shower and go to bed. Nothing happens.”

“That’s the way all militaries work,” Hux replies. “The soldiers supress and hide, and then, eventually, it all comes bubbling out. It’s anger issues and spousal abuse, it’s assault charges, DUIs or racing. It’s also hit counts and eventually PTSD so severe it’s crippling.”

Rey nods as he speaks. “At least, the other analysts are civilians. It’s informal. I miss going to a store. I miss my roommate.”

Hux sighs. “When I was a child, I used to miss my father. I always had the highest regard for him. He wasn’t home often and when he was, he usually had the time to spare for me.”

“And?”

“And then my mother passed away and I finally grasped exactly who, or rather what, my father is. Even home, he was Colonel first,” Hux says and then smiles a fake smile to make Rey feel less uncomfortable. 

Maybe once, Hux had idolised his father but, Hux realises with a sense of urgency, he’s more bitter about it than before. He doesn’t respect his father, not really. Hux fears him. Hux hates him and he fears him, and somehow, that has manifested into something akin to respect. And his father has never said a word, never noticed. 

A tight spring coils inside Hux’s throat and he swallows it down. 

Rey decides to change the theme, for which Hux is grateful. “You know, we never found out what the primary circle meant.”

“Ben’s? I thought it was his name,” Hux replies, puzzled.

“No, that’s the second one. The first one was the one Ben made around your hand.”

Somehow, that had slipped Hux’s mind. “Well, do we have a picture?”

“No,” Rey shakes her head. “You were blocking the sight.”

Alarm sounds in the distance, informing Hux and Rey that mealtime is over. As always, they are both startled by it.

“Maybe it’ll come up again,” Hux says, climbing to his feet. He picks up his tray, then he and Rey head back to the service tent. 

“I might recognize it if it does,” Rey dutifully replies.

After they returns the treys, Hux decides to find his father. The terrible tension that had been in his throat has now spread all through his stomach, causing cramps and not a little amount of anxiety. It’s early yet, so he knows just where to find him. 

Hux weaves his way through the base until he’s in a tent adjacent to the communication room. His father likes to command his soldiers from there, as it’s the closest space from where he can report and receive orders. 

Soldiers filter in and out of the room, going about his father’s bidding. It had always been difficult for Hux to approach Brendol, and this time is not an exception. He enters the room and stands on the side, waiting to be acknowledged. 

Brendol takes his time finish up whatever he’s doing. Only when there are no soldiers that need his immediate attention he looks up at him, and nods in a clear sign that Hux should approach him. Hux suspects he would have been made to wait even longer, had there not been a potential of Hux reporting something important. 

“What is it?” Brendol asks.

“I need to speak with you,” Hux says.

“Clearly,” Brendol replies dryly. “Or you wouldn’t be here.”

Hux feels nausea swirl in his guts. It had always been like this. Hux feels as if he’s ten and standing in his father’s study and being told he’s stupid, asked if he’s a cretin, if he should be sent to a boarding school or maybe to a special needs school since he can’t seem to get his grades right. If asked to do something, Hux’s hands had always shook, afraid to grab the wrong thing, afraid to place it on the wrong place. It had just made him make mistakes more often. 

“I was wondering if we could talk about mother,” Hux says. He watches as his father’s expression cools, growing disinterested. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Brendol says evenly, looking down at the papers littering his table. 

“Fine, then tell me how many degrees do I have?” Hux asks, 

“Don’t waste my time,” Brendol replies. “What is this really about?”

“I’m curious, and it shouldn’t take more than five minutes,” Hux says. “What instrument do I play? Can you remember?”

Brendol take a deep sigh. He lifts an eyebrow and says, “You’ve been made to learn the violin since you were old enough to hold one. Are you done?”

“And what was the name of my cat?” Hux asks next. 

Brendol frowns. “You never had a cat.”  
Hux takes a deep breath. He had wondered, if his father hadn’t noticed that his own son hates him, what else he had missed. Hux thought he knew his father, and that in return, his father had made an effort in knowing him as well. He sees now that it’s not the case, and it makes him feel sick. 

He has been nothing but a convenient tool to his father. And he’s been tricked into believing that’s enough. He feels anger soar high in his throat, pushing down betrayal, and sniffling out tears before than can surface.

With a hard voice, Hux says, “I didn’t play the violin. You wanted me to, but mother thought it would be better to learn piano. I adopted a cat after getting into uni, but I had to give her away since you kept taking me away for three, four days at a time. Her name was Milicent.”

His father stands there, looking at him, perhaps for the first time in his life confused. “So?” he says, not realising the importance of their conversation. 

Hux shakes his head. “Nothing. I will let you get back to more important things.”

Brendol sighs and looks down at his paperwork once again, moving his hand in a shooing motion, as if Hux were a dog who should go away. Hux wants to ask his father if he would have ever called Hux back had the shells not landed, but the words die on his tongue. 

He turns and leaves, understanding that his loyalty has meant nothing. With that clarity, Hux also realises that he is no longer duty bound. He is free.

\-- 

Perhaps Ben and his kind view humanity’s form of writing as a wasted opportunity, passing up a second communications channel. Pakistan is to thank for their study of how the creatures write, because unlike speech, a logogram is free of time.

Like their ships or their bodies, their written language has no forward or backward direction. It’s like writing a sentence using two hands, starting from either side, already knowing what you were going to write and how much space each word would occupy. Linguists call this non-linear orthography, which raises the question, "Is this how they think?" Hux believes it is, but he has no basis for such belief.

Ben can write a complex sentence in two seconds, effortlessly. It's taken them a month to make the simplest reply. Next, expanding vocabulary. Rey thinks it could easily take another month to be ready for that.

The more Hux is in the base, the more he sleeps. It’s strange, he has always been a light sleeper. Usually, he couldn’t get in more than two hours. Now, his face barely touches the pillow and he’s already dreaming. 

He’s in his home, at dawn, sitting up in his bed cold and alone. He’s waiting, and waiting, and waiting. The tock ticks by. There’s no key in the lock, no sound of shoes against the wood, or the doors closing. Tick, tick, tick, he waits but he knows already that Kylo won’t be coming. He feels old in those moment, older than age itself.

Hux wakes up after such dreams, scared and sad and he picks himself up and dresses, afraid to fall asleep again.

It’s not just the dreams that chase him into his waking moments. He doesn’t know what it is about Devon that rouses so many memories. His childhood that he had tried to repress comes back to him in flashes of light, his mother’s face bright and laughing, red hair falling in tresses. He remembers the long winter he had broken his wrist when he slipped on ice, remembers the first time he’d been explained what a computer is. He remembers, in stages, his father, and then he only remembers his father. 

Slowly, his mind begins sticking everything linearly, but then it would get interrupted, and he would remember Kylo’s face and his kisses, and he would remember waiting in a restaurant and him never showing up. He would remember the smell inside his car, and then the smell of his skin, and the taste of his lips. 

Hux can’t fight the images that form inside his mind; he remembers driving and searching for Kylo, who had stormed off in anger after a fight. Hux couldn’t find him anywhere, not at his mate’s, or the pub, or on the road. Hux feels the cold that would arrest him in those moments, realising the possibility that he can’t fix them, not this time. Hux recalls the texture of clothes that aren’t his own but are in his closet, though they aren’t there in reality, and he would forget he’s cold or hungry or happy for a long time.

These visions come to him in hot flashes each time he sees something familiar, and he wonders if he’s slowly losing his mind. Maybe he has schizophrenia, or a brain tumour; it’s possible. 

Hux stares at his data and statistics, or he stares at the logograms, and he feels anxiety and restlessness, smoothed only when he is back in the shell. He longs for something which he cannot have and that he has lost, and yet he doesn’t even know what that thing is. 

Hux is tired, and he is in pain. So, he finds himself doing a little escaping. 

Rey finds him outside of the base in the back of a pickup truck, staring up into a navy-blue sky that has begun to bleed into first colours of morning. It’s windy and cold, but he has dressed for it. The salty smell brings memories of olives and rosemary, and Hux wonders why the scents are familiar.

“The Colonel is looking for you,” Rey says in lieu of hello. 

Hux can only imagine why his father might be looking for him. 

“Come on up,” he tells her, and she shakes her head but hops on like it’s nothing. 

He sees so much in Rey but most of all he sees a chance of a good life. He sees potential of her strong mind and conviction, he sees a future where she is successful and content with her life. She has led them through this, blind and grasping, and directed them each step. Hux could have never done it, and that is what chafes the most. 

“Are you having a middle-aged crisis?” she asks him casually. Her tone is joking. She has, for some reason, grown a liking for him. 

“I’m thirty-four, Rey,” he replies. “Of course, I’m having one.”

She laughs but the sound is carried off by the ocean wind. 

“It’s nice out here, away from the noise,” she tells him. Her twinkling eyes turn on him.

“You know, I was just thinking about you,” Hux says. He sees her curiosity, face growing serious. He continues, “I watched you steer us around and away from communication traps I didn’t even know existed. You are brilliant.”

“Thank you,” she replies sincerely. “Not that I’m not grateful, but where is this coming from?”

“Did you know I tried joining the army? I was very young, very stupid. I got in. Things went to shit a week before I was to be deployed. An injury during training, nothing more. No need for a hospital, I was told it would go away.”

Hux looks at his outstretched left leg and tries not to hate it. “Now I’m in pain all day, every day, some worse than others. Still working for the army, but not where I was supposed to be.”

He watches her face and sees it has grown too serious. He smiles to diffuse some of the tension, but it’s soft and wobbly, and it fades when he asks, “How’s our dear Captain?”

“Which one?” she challenges. 

Hux purses his lips. “Finn. I did notice you know. I noticed a while back.”

“He’s fine,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Can’t wait for all this to go away.”

Hux hums, “The whole world does too. Do you like him?”

Hux gazes at the black disk in the sky. 

“Well,” Rey smiles. “One might even go so far as to say I fancy him.”

Hux smiles back. “This bud of love by summer’s ripening breath, May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.”

Grinning, Rey replies, “Love is begun by time, And time qualifies the spark and fire of it.”

Hux laughs softly, delighted by Rey’s wit. 

“How about you? Has anyone been in your life?” she asks him next.

“Love is an affliction I have built an immunity to it over long years of exposure.”

Rey laughs. “I think it’s a blessing, but to each their own. What do you think, will we finish this up soon?”

Hux gazes at the shell, and at its black shadow. He says, “I think we will be forced to make it go away too soon for our liking.”

He sits up and stretches, then descends from the pickup gingerly, careful of his leg. “I’m going to see what the Colonel has in store for me. Want to come with?”

“Not on your grave,” Rey replies cheerfully. 

Hux didn’t thinks so either.

He is prepared to go but something stops him. He turns to Rey and says, “Is Finn a good man?”

Rey considers Hux for a moment then replies, “Yes.”

Hux looks up at the sky. He asks, “If you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change things?”

A strong squall blows between them, whistling, roaring, and the reply is lost to it, snatched and stolen. Hux shakes his head. Body still trembling with the cold, he goes to see his father. 

\--

Laws. Hux’s reality consists of them since the moment Hux flipped open his school physics book. Learning physics was an experience that rotated his world view by one eighty, nothing making sense, and then it had rotated another one eighty, returning Hux to his original position, but never to his previous mindset. The knowledge he’d gained had made the world understandable, and as such, rational. It had made childhood bearable.

Recounting Newton’s laws is easy: First law of motion: every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it. 

Second law of motion: the acceleration of an object is directly proportional to the sum of all the forces acting on the object and inversely proportional to the mass. 

Third law of motion, perhaps the most famous one: to every action there is always opposed an equal reaction. 

Fourth, Newton’s law of cooling: rate of change of the temperature of an object is proportional to the difference between its own temperature and the ambient temperature. 

Fifth, Newton's law of universal gravitation: any two bodies in the universe attract each other with a force that is directly proportional to the product of their masses and inversely proportional to the square of the distance between them.

Hux considers them now as he stares at the footage his father’s just show him and knows that the writers had it right: anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Murphy was one son of a bitch. 

“We got the satellite feed a few minutes ago,” his father says, standing next to the control board in the communication room.

Hux observes the grainy image of a woman that is familiar to him. Colonel Organa looks put together, as always, but there’s something about her bearing that has Hux feeling wrong-footed. 

The audio that plays along with the video is choppy, but the General’s voice is clear. She’s talking about continents, about alliances being obvious, that even though it was risk, the last roll of dice made everything clear.

“It’s some kind of a code,” his father says. “We need to know what it is. Half an hour ago the US mobilized it’s troops.”

“Wait, stop,” Hux orders to the soldier at the control board. “Rewind it.”

The soldier obeys, rewinding the tape. He listens to the whole recording from the top, then asks to be played once again. Hux realises what he’s hearing on the third listen, as the General’s voice loops around the word risk and dice.

“It’s not code. I think they used the game Risk to communicate with their creature,” Hux says, appalled and amazed at once. 

His father looks at him but does not shoot the theory down which means he agrees with it. 

“If US movies, Russia will move. And if Russia moves others will be quick to follow. I need to know what Colonel Organa found out. You need to ask the question.”

“But,” Hux protests without thinking. “We’re not ready yet. We still have to teach them the--”

“It wasn’t a request,” his father cuts him off. “It’s a command. You and the girl prepare, you’re going in today, and you’re posing the question.”

If Hux were anyone else, if Hux were even a bit younger, or a little angrier, he would have protested. He would have raved and shouted, and he would have shown exactly how dissatisfied he is. He can’t. He feels the anger in his belly, and he wants to raze the man in front of him with it, but Hux knows that if he wants to hurt his father, throwing a tantrum is not the way. He will do it, Hux decides, after the crisis is over, after Hux is financially secure enough to cut his ties with the army. After he goes home.

For that purpose, and with that plan in mind, Hux clenches his fists and nod. 

It’s good that Rey speaks her mind once he relays the message and says everything Hux had held back. 

She looks at him and says, “You have to be joking.”

“No,” Hux replies, staring down the computer in Rey’s office that’s covered in pictures of different circles. 

That’s when the barrage starts. Every thought, by which Hux really does mean every unsavoury thought that Rey has at one or another point thought of his father flies out of her mouth. It ends with, “fucking bollocks,” and then she sighs and slumps in his seat, her arms crossed over her chest, satisfied. 

Hux wishes he would be even a little like Rey. He wishes that he had learned to like himself more. 

“So,” Rey says, staring ruefully at her computer. “How do we go about this?”

They work on the question until the alarm goes off to let them know it’s time. Rey and Hux don’t drag their feet. They wait for the escort unit to get dressed, and once they’re inside the shell, wait until the equipment is all set up. Hux’s confidence flares up when he sees Narlan’s face behind him. 

“Alright, ready,” Rey says and nods once her and Hux’s eyes meet. 

Hux hopes that, for once, things won’t end up the way they tend to do when the stakes are high -- in a heaping pile of shit. However, he can’t manage to rise his hopes up too far. His father, agent Phasma, and anyone worth mentioning in the base is watching them from the security feeds and Hux has no doubt that they will manage to make whatever information they get sound bad. 

Hux watches Rey slowly piece together a question using her tablet. The circle on the giant transportable screen changes its shapes as things are added and subtracted. Once Rey is satisfied, it takes the system a long moment to analyse the circles Rey had chosen and to combine them into one containing their question.

By now Hux has learned what all the circles they’d gotten mean. He knows, looking at the one Rey had created, that it means What is Ben’s purpose?

Then, they wait. Ben had appeared some few minutes ago, looking like an upset cat’s flailing tail, just before it decided to bite you. 

Once the circle is done, his aimless wandering stops. Without being prompted at all, he starts forming a shape. He doesn’t choose Rey’s, not Narlan’s, but builds himself up into the shape he always takes when Hux stands near the screen. The ash, for the first time since it began imitating them, looks solid, like a piece of burnt wood. It looks like there’s someone on the other side, like someone is trapped. 

Hux wondered why his mind supplies him with the image of Anthony Hopkins standing behind a glass wall, and why it doesn’t disturb his as much as it should have. It really doesn’t disturb him, he realises. Instead Hux gets a terrible itch, an indescribable yearning to make the make everyone go away, to put his hand through the screen and just drag Ben to his side. 

While thinking all of this, Hux also watches as Ben presses a hand to the screen and how his fingers slowly vanish into smoke to form an answer to their question. 

Whatever hope might have lingered, now sits dashed and broken at the bottom of Hux’s stomach. 

“Well? What does it say?” his father demands.

Hux looks nervously at Rey, who appears, for the first time, like she just might hate his father more than Hux does himself. She looks at Hux, eyes wide, jaw ticking. 

“It means,” she says with the gravity of sentencing someone to death, “Offer weapon.”


End file.
